long poem day

October 4, 2026

/ HJ / Leave a comment

who would have guessed
i’d become such a dog person:
entering a house and immediately being picked
by the big lab-pit mix
as the one who’d pay the most attention to him
[and him being exactly right]
as i’d kneel down for his face licks
and let him roll around in my lap
as i pet his belly
and squish his puppy face
and pull him around the kitchen
at the end of a tug toy rope
and always answer the call
of more pets
more belly rubs
more playtime
more attention
throughout the evening —
the adults standing and talking
the kids sitting and being entertained
and me and the puppy
rolling around on the floor
content as can be

i should have known from that first rain storm
and how much my heart was still in love with Louka
even as she smelled like wet wet dog
that i was an absolute goner
for the whole canine race

[i adore all animals, but dogs are something special]

~~~

not to be that person
but i can’t let a poem go
about loving animals
without bringing up my first love:
cats

cats of all kinds and colors
cats of all breeds and demeanors
i love the cats who hiss and snarl
and i love the cats who cuddle and curl
and i love the standoffish cats
who give you the time of day for one (1) pet
and then you may never see them again
and i love the needy cats
and the house cats
and the outside cats
and the stray cats
and the cats who act like dogs
and the cats who scream for food at 5 am
and the cats who play nonstop
and the cats who find the best sunspots and just sleep —
they are all great
and i love them all
with all of my heart

[along with all dogs, and all animals, as established in my previous poem]

~~~

it’s very silly to have competing poems
for dogs
vs
for cats
because i’ve spent my whole life loving the ‘underdog’
[which, ironically, is usually cats]
but i can
love them both equally
along with all animals
because i am that person
i am that Wild Magic character
who needs at least two animals around her
in order to sleep a good sleep at night

i wish i could call wild creatures to my bed
and cuddle with deer and raccoons and buffalo and echidnas all
but i am just as happy
having one cat and one puppy
in my bed with me
half on top of me
i really don’t sleep great
unless there is some kind of creature, be it feline, canine
or kip
and definitely the best sleep is with all three

i am an animal person
an animal lover
a lover of all creatures
even creepy crawly ones
even the spiders i’m so terrified of
i still see their reason for being
i wish i could deal with them being in the house
[and some of them, i can
some of them i can]

honestly
and truly
the only species of animals i’m not
1,000% on board with

are humans…

[and even then, half my life is spent
trying to make sure the humans i know and love
are feeling seen and heard and listened to and loved,
so damn, i really do love all this planet’s creatures…

and other planets’…?
i just haven’t met yet!]

September 25, 2026

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how has it only been one week
since we stampeded
through lower manhattan

a week ago this time, we still didn’t know what it was like
to be inside our buffalo for two hours
going
and going
in humidity so oppressive
i sweat more than i ever have
in my life

a week ago this time, we still had training to do
and things to learn
and choreography to go over

a week ago this time, we still felt inside it
did not know what it would seem like
from the outside
what the actual event would be like
how the public would react
honestly, how we would react

how has it only been a week?

how was it only one week?

how was it only one week to train and learn and form community
and honor and become alive become a herd
get to know our particular bison so
that they each got names and were loved
absolutely loved
by each and every puppeteer?

i often joke that i don’t understand how time works
that it’s wibbly wobbly
that it’s not linear
that it’s quangled
that it’s a mortal construction
and that time is far beyond our mere understanding of it

but damn

one week feels like too long and not long enough

and an entire eternity can take place in one week
in one two hour chunk
in one moment of a styrofoam eye glancing towards
a toddler who screams “the buffalo looked at me!”

memories make our own infinities

and i hope, for everyone who experienced the buffalo
they can look back and live in a memory
for as long as they need

for even longer than the week it took to make them come to life

[i should look up how long it took to physically make
each and every
one…]

September 23, 2026

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morning page poems are such a wild ride

because i sit down at a screen and start to write
and have zero words
[well, technically three, as i date every entry]
and i begin to write
and no matter how many words i put into the document
the word counter never seems to go beyond 150
and with a 300 word goal, this is agonizing
so i sludge and trudge through this sand dune of letters
never seeming to become full words that count
and i write and write and write and write
and eventually i forget to check the word count —
i get lost in a poem or a memory or a simple phrase
and before i know it, i’ve gotten multiple poems down
and i glance at the word count, and it’s approaching 300
not quite there yet, but i get a sense of sadness, that soon i will achieve the 300 word mark
and that means i no longer need to be writing
[not that i’d stop myself from continuing on, it’s just a weird feeling of disappointment, that i won’t actually
need to be writing anymore in a moment]
and then
i get lost again
in a poem/word/thought/phrase/memory/something
and i glance down at the word count
and i’ve gone well beyond 300 words
[just now i hit 500, in case you’re wondering]
and i wonder if i’m feeling like my morning pages are done
i wonder if i’ve got anything that i’m willing to post to share
into the ether/the void/the possibility of it being read
though so few people actually do look to read
every
single
day

but i do
do this
every
single
day

and tomorrow morning the journey will probably be the same

but the words/phrases/poems/thoughts/discoveries
will not be

and i think that’s neat.

September 22, 2026

/ HJ / Leave a comment

if you are reading this poem from far into the future
don’t let those who write the history books convince you
that this was a golden era of plenty

it was not

it absolutely is not

things are really really really bad right now

but don’t let them convince you that everyone was
dour
sad all the time
doing nothing
having no happiness

we find joy

we find joy

it’s what keeps us going/living/fighting for the future
for you

the black and brown folks i know
the immigrants and citizens
the neurodivergent and disabled
and all my queer kin, we can find
happiness in even the bleakest of places

it’s what makes us so resilient

it’s what makes us all worth fighting for

even when we give up on
fighting for ourselves, we
continue on, fighting for
each other

and that, i believe, is one of the most beautiful things
about our community

[and what those in power
absolutely lack]

so

things are bad

no one has enough money to truly live

ice is terrorizing everyone
no matter immigration status

our rights are being stripped away
and we are absolutely aware of it

and

we dance in the streets
we find someone to hold at night
we feed our dogs and our cats
and our fish/birds/lizards/other animals
sometimes before we feed ourselves
we care for each other
and seem to continue passing around the
same twenty dollars
ad infinitum, but damn, that twenty dollars
can make a difference in someone’s week
and we play games
and we check in
and we let each other know when we’ve
gotten home safely
and we meet strangers whom we know
care about people
and we give our knowledge to them
we give our trust to them
because we know we cannot continue
without others
and others cannot continue
without us doing our part

it sucks
and it’s joyful
and we’re working so hard against
those who would take everything away
for a lackluster feeling of power and a hoard of
fake monetary wealth

but we are concentrating on each other and the joy right now

those who suck can continue to fuck up humanity in their little gated communities
and giant white houses

here is where the party is

and the party is
revolution

September 20, 2026

/ HJ / Leave a comment

absorbing
and digesting
and discovering
and recovering
and breathing through
this day following
our final day

it was bittersweet

it was a lot

i think i could have written a better reflection
while inside of it,
now i’ve had a night to dream strange dreams
and almost think about it
but not quite

not quite

i’m not in the moment, so i feel i can’t write about being in the moment
and i’m not really outside of the experience, so i can’t write about looking back

i’m in a limbo of experiences’ making

so i suppose i’ll talk about that

this liminal time between being knee-deep/
elbow-deep/
maybe in over one’s own head
in an experience
riding that wave
and
the time afterward where one can look back
to reflect on what one has done
in memories/contemplations/
from a bit of a distance

this liminal space of being part of something that has not yet disbanded
but not currently experiencing the thing experienced
anymore

i’m using a lot of words because i don’t know how this feeling actually feels in words

[i suppose
that’s why we use the term “liminal”

it means a thing/space/experience of being in-between

it means something that’s hard to put into words
because it will always be
in-between words

i’m experiencing between experiences

i’m living between moments —
between ‘during’ and ‘after’

it’s an awkward, growing-pains kind of place to be living,
and it won’t last forever

but i’m living in it
and riding it as far as it’ll go

because as soon as this feeling ceases
then the experience really is
fully
over

and i don’t think i’m ready for that
quite yet]

September 17, 2026

/ HJ / Leave a comment

i wish i could bottle certain feelings
and uncork and inhale them when needed

last night i had a moment of utter bliss
looking around, watching adults and artists
puppeteering giant buffalo around a warehouse in brooklyn
everyone concentrating
everyone knowing
it’s an illusion but also a very real spirit
that makes this whole herd work

it’s art and community and hope and strength
and imagination and wisdom and belief
and i damn near cried because i couldn’t believe
this is real life
this is better than i could have imagined
my time on earth
would be spent

helping native persons
helping the earth

with art and performance and everything i have ever wanted to do

i suppose i’m inhaling that bottled sense again this morning
writing about it
trying to express with words what words cannot express
but can, perhaps, capture a sample
or imitate for future use

for when i feel lost

for when i feel depressed

for when i have no hope

i can remember one hundred and sixty? seventy? eighty? people
some inside a puppet
some outside observers
learners
like me
all with one goal in mind: create conversation
for the betterment of everyone on this planet
every person, human and non-human,
and doing it with
art

art that took teams and teams to imagine and map out
and build and construct
and put final touches on
and doctor and make better
and teams to map out routes and talk with other groups
and performers and city officials and advertise so more people
will see and continue a conversation we are creating
we, this team, all voluntary, all wanting to bring to life
this art, this stampede, this dream,
this imagining

this honoring

i hope those who see from the outside tomorrow and saturday
see what i saw yesterday
feel what i felt yesterday

that it’s amazing to be
here
now

with people
with buffalo
with hope
with art
with life

let us let the earth continue to provide this magic

let us help the earth

let us help the magic

September 6, 2026

/ HJ / Leave a comment

300 words
is my writing goal
every morning

and i usually hit it
[no, not always, but usually]
and i usually feel settled
by that time

enough words to get the morning sleepies out
enough words to find a thing i’m fine with posting
enough words to feel warmed up
emotionally/intellectually/creatively
for the day

but these past few days
300 does not feel like enough

and there isn’t anything that says
300 is a limitation
it is literally a minimum
[and even then, these are all rules i set for myself
so if i can only do about three words
that turn into a short poem day,
that’s fine for me,
that’s fine
that’s fine]

but i find it incredibly interesting
that a few weeks ago
i ran into multiple days
i couldn’t even find the time to write
anything
and now, two-ish weeks later
i’m itching
for more
and more
and more writing time

and making it happen

[am i, after five and a half years of this silly, self-imposed writing challenge
becoming something like
a “real”
writer?]

August 25, 2026

/ HJ / Leave a comment

i slept last night in a room
so cold
the a/c unit [set to 70] turned itself
off
it got cold enough that it
felt it had done its job
[and i know, i know,
i have friends who are overheated
until the thermostat reads lower than 68
but let me tell you, anything below 74 and i am
straight up shivering]
and so i slept with a little hat on
my go-to hat for wintertimes
when my head and ears need covering
but i didn’t want to cover up the beautiful rainbow
that my hair was
[but is not anymore]
and that rainbow hat
tamed my wild full head of cowlick down
to sit flat against my forehead
and ears
and neck
and not look completely foolish
and i don’t know how i feel about this particular look
[just as i don’t know how to feel about
this particular haircut]
but hey
i’m trying things
and i’m letting the situation lead me;
so if today is a flat head of hair day
because circumstances were such that
i actually needed to sleep in a hat last night
[and i always suspected hat-sleeping would lead to
this hair-flattening]
then today
is a flat head of hair day

we’re just going with the flow
in general
but in particular with hair

[philosophizing
but really, it’s the practical matters
that sometimes need the poetizing]

August 20, 2026

/ HJ / Leave a comment

i’m
always
overwhelmed

because i keep
breaking everything down
into smaller and smaller pieces

you’d think this would help

it hurts

because i keep all the pieces inside my perception
the whole and the parts
and the parts feel
so many…

for example:
i follow the backwards projection
of everything everything everything to try to
negate my own impact
on the world

i know fast fashion
is terrible for the environment
so i err towards slow fashion
i err towards second-hand
but both of these have impacts
money spent in the fashion industry
and the possibility that it won’t fit well
it will wear out
eventually
and i’ll have to make a decision
whether or not
to throw it
out

so i err towards making my own clothing
but there are still impacts:
fabric to buy
[if i know the person who makes my clothes
is working too hard
for too little pay — that still stays
when talking about who is making
the fabric when i make
my own clothing, correct?]
and all the notions
and thread
and little things
i’m still paying
into the economy — what if i want to be
completely self-sustaining?

so then we look at visible mending
the clothes i already have
with the supplies i already have
which is quite a bit
but i’m still forever getting little things:
sashiko patterns
and replacing certain embroidery thread
i know i’ll use
and darning tools
and i just want to
not
buy
anything
at
all

and on and on and on
and backwards and backwards and backwards
and when is something too warn out to wear
and how many rags can you really have
before it’s just an excuse to keep
tiny
tiny
tiny
things
everywhere everywhere everywhere around the house

i’m not explaining myself very well
but it is a thing i think about
every
single
day

July 20, 2026

/ HJ / Leave a comment

the immediate is often a good way to start

the senses:

i see — this blank page in front of me, but like most digital
formats, i’ve kept it in dark mode, so it doesn’t really feel like
a blank piece of paper, white and crisp and clean, it feels like
every other dark digital adventure in my life right now

i hear — the fan above me, well, i believe i hear the motor
turning it, not so much the fan itself, though the fan does
blow the air into my ears, and i cannot tell if that’s a hear or
a feel sense, because they get mixed up somewhere in my
brain, but also i hear cars outside every so often, and my
kip placing their mug of tea back on the table after taking
a sip

i feel — also the fan, it’s blowing its air so hard that i’m
gathering goosebumps along my arms as i write, thinking
to myself ‘maybe i should have kept that flannel on, or
brought down a cardigan, or a hoodie…’ why am i such a
freezebaby? it’s summer, it’s the time to wear shorts and
tank tops and always feel overheated and sweaty, i’m
simply cold and sweaty, like the rest of the year…

i smell — the coffee i just made for myself, blackberry cobbler
coffee, wafting in through the kitchen and through my own mug,
mixing in with the scents of this house i am now nose-blind to,
until i leave for a bit, then i come back inside, and there are those
smells, the smells of wood and kips and one dog one cat and
something else that i only associate with this house…they’re all
there in the mix as well

i taste — that same coffee, sipping every few minutes, sipping when
i’m at a loss for what to write and need a moment to find my
bearings, sipping when i feel the placebo effect from the last sip
fading, and need to remind my neurons that i’m caffeinated, even
though i know the caffeine really doesn’t affect me that much; it’s
all association with taste, and honestly, i kind of like it that way

i wrote of the immediate
i wrote three hundred plus words in this poem alone
is this enough of a warm-up for writing?
is this something i’d want to actually post?
is this enough of a warm-up for life and living?

i think so

i think so

i think so